Mary Barton

can the ri

he poor m

ike some dar

nd neare

amp'd the w

of work

d at the dr

him 'twa

eart-sore, h

gh the win

ellar, ther

no food,

saw his d

the flags

ard that ma

a bit of

ester

s soon as the weather should become more genial. It was a pleasant thing to be able to lounge over breakfast with a review or newspaper in hand; to have time for becoming acquainted with agreeable and accomplished daughters, on whose education no money had been spared, but whose fathers, shut up during a long day with calicoes and accounts, had so seldom had leisure to enjoy their daughters' talents. There were happy family evenings, now that the men of business had time for domestic enjoyments. There is another side to the picture. There were homes over which Carsons' fire threw a deep, terrible gloom; the homes of those who would fain work, and no man gave unto them-the homes of those to whom leisure was a curse. There, the family music was hungry wails, when week after week passed by, and there was no work to be had, and consequently no wages to pay for the bread the children cried aloud for in their young impatience of suffering. There was no breakfast to lounge ove

consequently as trade continued dead, other mills shortened

to be so long indebted to his son. He was out of spirits and depressed. Barton was morose, and soured towards mankind as a body, and the rich in particular. One evening, when the clear light at six o'clock contrasted strangely with the Christmas cold, and

it o' money by you,

I'd like to know. Wha

ye know Ben Davenport as worked at Carsons'? He's down wi' the fev

note

by our older writers. "And that may non Hors don."-Sir J. M

et

note

Teut., kaud.

et

is gruffness. He rose, and went to the cupboard (his wife's pride long ago). There lay the remains of his dinner, hastily put by ready for supper.

going to work th

than in this street. As they passed, women from their doors tossed household slops of every description into the gutter; they ran into the next pool, which overflowed and stagnated. Heaps of ashes were the stepping-stones, on which the passer-by, who cared in the least for cleanliness, took care not to put his foot. Our friends were not dainty, but even they picked their way till they got to some steps leading down into a small area, where a person standing would have his head about one foot below the level of the street, and might at the same time, without the least motion of his body, touch the window of the cellar and the damp muddy wall right opposite. You went down one step even from the foul area into the cellar in which a family of human being

children, and don't mither [13] your mammy fo

note

perplex. "I'm welly mithe

et

ed round Barton, and tore from him the food he had brought with

he to Wilson. "Yo stop here, an

e shops he wanted. He bought meat, and a loaf of bread, candles, chips, and from a little retail yard he purchased a couple of hundredweights of coals. Some money yet remained-all destined for them, but he did not yet know how best to spend it. Food, light, and warmth, he had instantly seen were necessary; for luxuries he would wait. Wilson's eyes filled with tears when he saw Barton enter with his purchases. He understood it all, and longed to be once more in work, that he might help in some of these material ways, without feeling that he was using his son's money. But th

again for bread; but this time Barton took a piece first to the poor, helpless, hopeless woman, who still sat by the side of her husband, listening to his anxious miserable mutterings. She took the bread, when it was put into her hand, and broke a bit,

as does nought but fight, home to my missis's for to-night, and I'll ge

ith the useful skill of a working-man, to make some gruel; and when it was hastily made he seized a battered iron table-spoon (kept when many other little things had been sold in a lot), in order to feed baby, and with it he forced one or two drops between her clenched teeth. The mouth opened mechanically to receive more, and gradually she revived. She sat up and looked round; and recollecting all, fell down again in weak and passive despair. Her little child crawled to her, and wiped with its fingers the thick-coming tears which she now had strength to weep. It was now high time to attend to the man. He lay on straw, so damp and mouldy no dog would have chosen it in preference to flags; over it was a piece of sacking, coming next to his worn skeleton of a body; above him was mustered every article of clothin

orlorn couple; that was settled. But could no doctor be had? In all probability, no; the next day an infirmary order might be begged, but meanw

n all the hurrying crowd had come from such a house of mourning. He thought they all looked joyous, and he was angry with them. But he could not, you cannot, read the lot of those who daily pass you by in the street. How do you know the wild romances of their lives; the trials, the temptations they are even now enduring, resisting, sinking under? You may be elbowed one instant by the girl desperate in her abandonment, laughing in mad merriment with her outward gesture, while her soul is longing for the rest of the dead, and bringing itself to think of the cold-flowing river

; and proceeded to make up a bottle of medicine, sweet spirits of nitre, or some such innocent potion, very good for slight colds, but utterly powerless to stop, for an instant, the raging fever of the poor man it was intended to relieve. He recommended the same course t

ant; it led into a back cellar, with a grating instead of a window, down which dropped the moisture from pigsties, and worse abominations. It was not paved; the floor was one mass of bad smelling mud. It had never been used, for there was not an article of furniture in it; no

!" exclaimed he, in surpr

else to gi' him, and he'll get a bit of sleep lying there, if he's getten [14] nought b

note

et no benefice."-Prolog

et

note

hildre" in his A

et

had no money

note

han light and

et

parish, if he went to th' board; so we've just borne on in hope o' better times. But I thi

then try and get a bit o' sleep. John

note

e brothe thereof."

et

essing be

and tried to move lightly for fear of disturbing her; but there need have been no such dread, for her sl

e, which surprised Wilson, who knew his piety in health, and who did not know the unbridled tongue of delirium. At length he seemed exhausted, and fell asleep; and Barton and Wilson drew near the fire,

this chap long

art good to read it; for, yo see, I were a bit grumbling mysel; it seemed hard to be spunging on Jem, and taking a' his flesh-meat money to buy bread for me and them as I ought to be keeping. But, yo know, though I can earn nought, I mun eat summut. Well, as I telle

rs' Father, too? I'd be loat

e there's many and many a mas

ey're rich, and we're poor? I'd like to know th

he would have called it. So Barton, seeing h

ht to begin wi'; there's Carsons, and Duncombes, and Mengies, and many another, as comed into Manchester with clothes to their back, and that were all, and now they're worth their tens of thousands, a' getten out of our labour; why the very land as fetched but sixty pound twenty year agone is now worth six hundred, and tha

note

action of "they

et

e, and says he, 'I shall ha' to retrench, and be very careful in my expendit

heir'n die for want o' food?" as

ee such men as Davenport there dying away, for very clemming, I cannot stand it. I've but gotten Mary,

then, which seemed to have power over her, when far louder noises failed to disturb her. The watchers agreed, that as soon as it was likely Mr. Carson would be up and visible, Wilson should go to his house, and beg for an Infirmary order. At length t

ood house, and furnished with disregard to expense. But in addition to lavish expenditure, there was much taste shown, and many articles chosen for their beauty and elegance adorned his rooms. As Wilson passed a window which a housemaid had thrown open, he saw pictures and gilding, at which he was tempted to stop and look; but then he thought it would not be respectful. So he hastened on to the kitchen door. The servants seemed very busy with preparations for breakfast; but good-natur

r the day before. If the servants had known this, they would have willingly given him meat and bread in abundance; but they were like the rest of us, and not feeling hunger

were last ni

e to be at the rooms by twelve; and there I was

ed the housemaid, who had done her work for the pre

done if we'd stopped there. No! I put th' horses up in th' stables at th' Spread Eagle, and went mysel, and got a glass or two by th' fire

mas; you'll get a

nd not mine. Flesh and blood can't sit to be starved to death o

, semi-lady's-maid, now came do

n a pound for salmon for Tuesday; she's grumbling because trade's so bad. And she'll wa

ay, I

r P's and Q's, for she's very black t

l which had got the worst headaches; it was that Miss Jenkins left for; she would not g

ge as was left yesterday, and put plenty of cream in her coffee, and

attend to the young ladies' bell when they chose t

epared food. The father was a prepossessing-looking old man; perhaps self-indulgent you might guess. The son was strikingly handsome, and knew it. His dress was neat and well appointed, and his manners far

o young to go to assemblies, at which her father rejoiced, for he had little Amy with her pretty jokes, and her bird-like songs, and her playful caresses all

rough red face all over. She took his newspaper away after a little pretende

ing, papa, so you know you m

your own way always, whether

say that; but I'm sorry to say Harry is very naugh

raise and not blame; for did not I get you that eau de Portugal from to

f; you're almost as good as papa; but still you know you did go and f

ot the Rose, sans reproche; but do you know, little M

't you, dear father? He knows his little dau

into acquiescence, saying she must have it, it was one of

her, "try and be content w

f-a-crown for a bunch of lilies of the valley at Yates', a month ago, and then would not let his p

is mouth, while his eyes had an irritated expression, an

g the room, "here's one of the mill people wa

rectly; stay, tell h

ashed, unshaven weaver was ushered in. There he stood at the door, sleeking his hair with old

nd what do you w

e fever, and I'm come to know if yo

who is the fellow? I

r factory better no

he names of the men I employ; that I le

d; we want to get him

; they're always wanted for accidents, you know.

d then gave Wilson an out-patient's order to be presented the f

rode away. He was anxious to be in time to have a look and a smile from lovely Mary Barton, as she went to Miss Simmonds'. But to-day he was to be disappointed. Wilson left the house, not knowing whether to be pleased or grieved. It was long to Monday, but they had all spoken kindly to him, and who could tell

lmost elated in his heart. But it fell when he opened the cellar-door, and saw Barto

ere's a change comed over him

gid. The fearful clay-colour of death was over all. But the eyes were o

oan; but he soon went off again, and we never knew he were awake till h

ke to break. She held her child to her breast, to try and keep him quiet. Their eyes were all fixed on the yet living one, whose moments of life were passing so rapidly away. At len

hee, that the hard stru

ave you no thought for me? Oh, Ben! Ben!

he meant, and guided it to her head, bowed and hidden in her hands, when she had sunk in her woe. It rested there, with a feeble pressure of endearment. The face grew beautiful, as the soul neared God. A peace beyond understanding came over i

father, through a neighbour, telling her where he was; and she had set out early to come and have a word w

t know what to say, or how to comfort; but she knelt down by her, and put her arm round her neck, and in a little while fell to cry

her anger, in the anxious desire to comfort the poor lone woman. Never had her sweet face looked more an

care again. Yes, I know how lonesome you must feel; but think of your children. Oh! we'll all help to

g herself, as passiona

o home with Mary? The latter brightened up as she urged this plan; but no! where the poor, fondly loved remains were, there would the mourner be; and all that they could do was to make her as comfortable as their fun

rue enough that Mary did not mind what she was about; she was too busy planning how her old black gown (her best when her mother died) might be spunged, and turned, and lengthened into something like decent mourning for the widow. And when she went home at night (though it was ver

otesque funeral pomp of respectable people. There was no "rattling the bones over the stones," of the pauper's funeral. Decently and quietly was he followed to the grave by one determined to endure her woe meekly for his sake. The only mark of pauperism attendant on the burial concerned the living and joyous, far more than the dead, or the sorrowful. When they arrived in the churchyard, they halted before a raised and hands

note

ledge, in one churchyard in

et